The Beast has been full of sass these days. In fact, he’s been sassing me all week in really passive aggressive ways, like leaving his music room like this for days on end.
I don’t care how messy his music room gets because I don’t go in there anymore. But now he’s also moved into the dining room, which is where I’ve set up shop as of late to do my work because for some reason, it’s warmer in there than any other room in the house.
I know why he’s behaving so poorly: he’s lashing out because I’ve booked a trip to Cuba with my friend Erinn. To be clear, the Beast isn’t mad that he’s not going to Cuba–he’s mad that he’ll be left home alone to fend for himself. As a result, he’s acting up.
Foodie (on the phone with the Beast who’s at work): Guess what I’m making for dinner tonight? I’ll tell you: enchiladas!
Beast: Wow. How do you know how to make those?
Foodie: I don’t! I’m just going to make it up as I go.
Beast: Oh I see. (Pause) Great.
Foodie: Oh hey, listen: you know all the clothes that you always leave on the rocking chair every week and then I play a guessing game of what’s dirty and what’s not and then hang up all the clean stuff? Well I’m not doing that anymore. You know Sunday is the day I do laundry so anything that’s dirty on that chair right now is not getting washed. That rocking chair is not a laundry hamper. The laundry hamper is two feet away from the rocking chair and your closet is right behind the chair.
Foodie: I am taking a vacation without you.
Beast: I KNOW! You’re going to be so sorry when you get back.
Foodie: What’s that supposed to mean?
Beast: You’ll see.
Whatever. I had enchiladas to make! First, I decided to whip up some salsa using these seven simple ingredients.
I haven’t bought salsa since I tried Nick’s Dad’s homemade stuff years ago. (And that’s Nick Martin, not Nick Edwards. The Beast has a thing for Nicks.) You just dump a can of plum tomatoes, along with the juice, into a food processor. Add a jalapeno pepper (take the seeds out if you desire just some zing rather than heat), a coursely chopped small red onion, a few garlic cloves, a heaping teaspoon of salt, a handful of cilantro and the juice of one lime. Voila! It’s a real crowd pleaser.
Moving on, I browned some ground beef with some chili, cayenne and garlic powder. I opened up a can of black beans, I opened up another can of tomatoes and made tomato sauce by wizzing the tomatoes up with some garlic, salt and a pinch of sugar. I chopped up a green onion, and I grated some old cheddar. Then I put all this stuff into a tortilla shell.
Beast: It smells great in here!
Foodie: I’m pretty excited about the dish I invented. I think they’re going to be great.
Beast: Are you blogging about this. (The word blogging said with mockery and disdain.)
Foodie: I don’t know–I might.
Beast: You know what I’m going to do when you abandon me? I’m going to high jack your blog and make it into Foodieandthebeast.thetruth.wordpress.org. I’m sick of your lies!
Foodie: Actually, that would be an incredible idea! You could guest blog while I’m on a white sand beach and frolicking in a crystal blue sea. You could blog about what you eat every night while I’m away.
Beast: NO! Because I won’t be eating. I’m going to be so sick by the time you get back. You’ll be so sorry you left. And you’ll be sorry that you’re not supportive of my music and you’ll be sorry that you’re always telling me to clean up everything. NEWSFLASH: GENIUSES ARE MESSY. Do you think Mozart had to clean up his shit every night? And Beethoven? Bach? Walt Whitman? Homer?
Foodie: Are you done?
Beast: I’m going to be dead.
Foodie: Excuse me?
(The Beast makes a hand gesture of a noose being around his neck.)
Foodie: Okay, too far.
Beast: While you’re having affairs and smoking cigars, I’ll be DEAD! Then you’ll be sorry.
Foodie: (laughing) YOU’RE BEING ABSURD! Who would I have an affair with in Cuba?
Beast: You tell me.
Beast: These look pretty good. Is there meat in there?
Foodie: Yes, there’s meat. I almost made them without any but I knew you’d prefer them with meat.
We filled our plates and ate our dinner.
I was wrong.
Categories: At Home